


One Thing Leads to Another

by mustlovemustypages



Category: Sky High (2005)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Feelings Realization, Fluff, Friendship, Post-Canon, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:41:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28129311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mustlovemustypages/pseuds/mustlovemustypages
Summary: Years after the events of Sky High, Warren and Layla are good friends, just friends thank you very much. But Warren is in a bind and thanks to some meddling on Will's part, Layla agrees to pretend to date again. This time for his mother's wedding. This absolutely does not stir up any repressed feelings.
Relationships: Warren Peace & Layla Williams, Warren Peace & Will Stronghold, Warren Peace/Layla Williams, Will Stronghold & Layla Williams
Comments: 13
Kudos: 64
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	One Thing Leads to Another

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kenopsia (indie)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/indie/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, dear recipient! I was very excited to see a prompt for Warren and Layla as I just absolutely adored their chemistry in Sky High. I tried to tackle a few of your likes and also include Will a bit because I loved his friendship dynamic with Warren and Layla in canon.

At any moment, someone is going to come up the stairs and see Layla pacing back-and-forth down the hallway and call the police to report a crazed loiterer. Which would be very ironic given her second profession of crime-fighting. Of course, the obvious solution is to go inside, but that would require Layla to knock on the door of 208B and ask to be allowed in. And knocking on the door would alert Warren Peace to her presence when he had clearly told her not to come.

Stopping in the middle of the hallway, Layla looks down at her worn-out kelly green Converse and scuffs at the carpet in one final attempt at procrastination. Then, without allowing herself to dwell on it a second longer, she goes to Warren's apartment door and knocks.

There's a long enough break between knocking and the door finally swinging open that Layla strongly considers turning around and hightailing it out of there. But then Warren is standing on the other side of the open door, and she can't turn back now. He looks completely unimpressed, his thick black hair pulled back in a rubber band and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses looped into the front of a Bowling for Soup band tee.

Layla starts to defend her presence, but she doesn't even get the chance before Warren is turning around and disappearing into the depths of his apartment. "You're late!" he calls back to her.

Momentarily speechless by the comment, Layla recalls their last conversation in her head, and no, she's not misremembering. Mouth still open, Layla snaps it shut and then steps inside, closing and locking the door behind her. As she toes off her shoes and looks around, she sees the living room is mostly cleared out except for a long, black leather couch and a stack of empty boxes by a bookcase. There's a single potted plant sitting by itself on the windowsill, a sharp contrast to the dozens she has at her place. 

After tossing her bag on the couch, she walks through rooms of similar packing status until she finds Warren in his office, digging through a drawer. This room looks mostly untouched compared to the rest. She leans against the door frame and crosses her arms. "How can I be late if I wasn't even supposed to come?"

A roll of tape comes soaring through the air, and Layla barely manages to catch the thing without dropping it. 

Warren starts to empty the drawers of papers and pens, throwing some into a box and others into a garbage bag. He sighs as if he's about to explain something very obvious to a child. "Layla, I saw it on your face the moment I told you I was moving." His voice isn't annoyed as she'd expected but amused, almost fond even. "You were never not going to come. You're _you_."

At that loaded last statement, she _does_ fumble the tape, and Warren is suddenly looking like maybe her helping pack up his valuables isn't such a great idea.

However, despite his obvious doubts at her packing prowess, he doesn't make her leave, and they make quick work of his office. 

This isn't the first time they've packed together, and as Layla empties Warren's umpteenth bookshelf of its contents, she muses over the differences. Last time, the move and packing were prompted by a complete breakdown on Layla's part. She'd been living in Tampa, Florida, working by day as an environmental activist and spearheading a lot of legislative campaigns for climate change. By night she'd been saving lives of a different sort, the super sort. Despite loving her jobs, though, Layla had been homesick for California and missing her family and friends something fierce.

Thus, the breakdown on her weekly phone call with Warren. What had started as a chat about their day and discussing a new documentary they'd both watched had ended with her sobbing into the phone that she couldn't do it anymore.

Very un-Warren-like, he had calmed her down with reassurances that she wasn't stuck and they could fix this, and her tears had dried up in record time (efficiency was very Warren-like). Before they'd ended the call, Warren had brainstormed a list of five potential cities she could move to. By morning, there were two phone numbers waiting in her inbox for Los Angeles and Sacramento's mayors.

A week later she was settled in Los Angeles, one of the most polluted cities in the U.S. and less than twenty minutes from where she grew up in Pasadena. Warren had shown up in Tampa out of the blue to help her pack, which may have resulted in a few more tears, happy ones this time, and a should-have-been-more-awkward-than-it-was hug in thanks.

Needless to say, Layla's books are a sharp contrast to Warren's. Hers are mostly about gardening or environmental activism. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, she looks at the spines of some of the remaining books on the bottom shelf, one an MLA citation guide and the other a literary analysis of Tolstoy, and shakes her head with a laugh.

"What are you giggling about over there?"

Layla pushes away the temptation to retort that she was laughing, not giggling like a toddler. Instead, she cranes her neck to peer around the side of the desk and sees that Warren is also on the floor, taking a break. His eyes are closed, and his head tilted back against the wall. "No one would doubt your dedication," Layla comments. "Even someone who didn't know you at all could probably step into this room and know right away you teach English lit."

Eyes still closed, Warren jabs a thumb at the stack of papers beside him. "Or at the very least, they'd know when they came across all these essays."

"Are those for the intro class you're teaching this semester?"

At that, Warren pops one eye open to stare at her curiously. Layla shrugs. He'd told her about the essays and how much he was dreading grading them last Saturday in between episodes of an old docuseries about the national parks they'd binge-watched.

Warren opens both of his eyes and takes the top paper from the stack. "They weren't as bad as I'd been expecting. Some were pretty promising, actually." His lips twist into a wry grin, and he grabs the whole stack, dropping it unceremoniously into a box. "Some used Wikipedia in their citations."

"You're kidding!" Layla snorts, and as Warren shakes his head, his grin widens into a full out smile.

Then his smile fades into something else entirely, one of unsureness and hesitancy. The quick shift is alarming to say the least. "Hey, just in case I forget to say it later, thanks for coming even though I told you not to." Warren looks down at the boxes scattered throughout the room and awkwardly rubs at his neck. He coughs and looks up at her for a beat before his eyes dart away again. "It really means a lot to me."

His words send something warm and pleasant over Layla's skin, and she's now hyper-aware of everything. "Of course," she stammers out, her own smile frozen in place as she doesn't know what to say or where to look. Warren's sudden seriousness throws her off as he's never been one for heartfelt conversations. It's a long quiet moment where neither one speaks before she turns back to the bookshelf, forcing her voice to remain steady as she speaks. "Okay, back to work. This stuff won't pack itself."

* * *

It's a week after Layla helped Warren pack and move to a place closer to Cal-State where he teaches. Her arms no longer feel like jelly, but there is a lingering soreness in her shoulders that has her reevaluating her non-existent workout routine. Thankfully Will had stopped by in the afternoon to move the larger furniture. Otherwise, Layla would currently be bedridden.

Now in a strange turn of events, Warren is sitting in her kitchen after surprising her with an unexpected visit. She may have quoted The Office's "My how the turntables..." after answering the door, trying to get at the very least an eye roll from him. After spotting the bag of Chinese takeout in his hand, though, Warren's comfort food of choice, Layla realized this probably wasn't going to be a typical house call. And oh boy has she never been more right. 

Layla takes out another egg roll from the paper takeout bag and starts hunting through the other ones for all of those little sauce packets. "I'm just going to need you to explain how a phone call with your mother resulted in her thinking you have a serious girlfriend. You haven't dated since college."

There's a small frown etched into the lines of Warren's unshaven face that deepens at the reminder. "I may have panicked." And _that_ has Layla looking up from her dinner, because Warren Peace and panic? They didn't even live in the same zip code. 

He was the one who had calmed her down freshman year of college when she was convinced she'd failed a Botany lab exam. When the mayor of Tampa had skipped the usual hero assigning ceremony and had personally called her while she was at a restaurant, Warren had been there. After seeing her alarmed expression, he'd just slid into the booth beside her, put the phone on speaker, and listened to the offer, silently mouthing "breathe" every few minutes when her vision got a little spotty. 

And then there was, of course, the waterworks over Tampa six months ago and him essentially arranging her move across the country.

While Warren had quite the temper in high school, and still did sometimes if Layla was being frank, overall the Warren Peace standing in front of her today was a completely different person to the one she'd first encountered in Sky High's cafeteria. Still, in retrospect, all of those stressful things had been about Layla, not Warren. A hero through and through, he was much better at helping others than himself.

Suddenly, a whooshing sound snaps Layla out of her thoughts as a flicker of light appears an inch from her nose. She jerks her head back and glares at Warren's retreating hand, which is smoking ever so slightly. "You know I hate when you do that." 

"You were zoning out." 

"That's not a good enough reason to put a literal flame near my face."

"It's not like I would ever burn you."

Layla starts to argue, then thinks better of it as Warren starts pacing her kitchen's length, back and forth from the sink to the table. Actual _pacing_.

"So... you panicked..." Layla repeats, getting them back to the topic at hand. She must let some of her disbelief leak into her voice because Warren pauses his pacing to run a hand through his hair and shoot her a look that says, 'Be supportive.'

Finally, though, he nods. "I was taken off guard, and I panicked." The look of disgust that comes over his face at the admission of emotional weakness has Layla internally laughing, and she shoves a forkful of lo mein into her mouth before any laughter escapes.

Warren narrows his eyes like he can sense her amusement but doesn't say anything and resumes his pacing in brooding silence. 

Layla lets him stew for another minute before she sees a tendril of smoke curl out from his right palm and points her fork towards it. "Okay, that's it. Come sit down before you catch my kitchen on fire!"

Glancing down, Warren shakes out his hands with a frustrated sigh before returning to the table and his seat across from her, the pork and rice that he'd brought over untouched on his plate.

She tries again to get him to open up. "I'm just going to need you to explain-"

A knock on the door interrupts, and before Layla can get up to answer it, Warren's out of his seat and padding in his sock-clad feet to the front of her house. She listens for the click as the door swings open, which is followed by a murmur of voices, and a moment later, Warren returns with Will behind him. 

Layla smiles hello as Warren continues through the kitchen to the fridge and yanks it open a little too aggressively. After Will sits down in the seat, he frowns at Warren's back and leans over the table. "What's wrong with grumpy?" he whispers.

Before she can respond, the fridge door closes, and Warren returns with three glass bottles of soda. "Where did those come from?" she asks, taking the one he sets in front of her and twisting off the lid with a satisfying pop. 

Will grabs a plate and starts to stack it with food. "Your fridge..." he draws out, the "duh" going unspoken. 

Layla flicks the metal bottle cap at Will's forehead, which he doesn't weave away from in time, and it lands dead center with a thwack. "Obviously." She looks at Warren. "You didn't carry them in with you today."

Now it's Warren's turn to give her the "duh" look. "They've been in there for weeks. I brought them over when you made me watch that docuseries with you."

Will snorts into his soda. 

"You said you enjoyed it!" Layla exclaims. 

"I never said I didn't like it. I was just explaining how the drinks got there. I put them in the back, behind the mountain of tofu and vegetables. It's no surprise you didn't know they were there." 

Initially, it had started as a tit for tat. Warren agreed to watch the docuseries if Layla went with him to watch the new Anna Karenina adaptation at a local film festival. She'd thought they'd both enjoyed themselves, lounging around in sweatpants and eating junk food. Warren had even brought up the Yosemite episode the other day and how he'd like to visit. Now though, she feels a sharp sting of annoyance that maybe he'd not been entirely truthful to her. There were few things Layla hated more in life than lying.

Hesitantly, Warren reaches over and taps at her hands, which unknowingly Layla had clenched into fists on the table top. She slowly unfurls them. "Hey," he says softly, squeezing one hand and making sure she's looking at him as he speaks. "I really did like it. Okay?"

It takes a second for the tightness in her chest to disappear, but when it does, she shoots him a relieved smile, and some of the tenseness in Warren's own body seems to ease. Then Layla redirects her smile over to Will, and her best friend's face immediately becomes one of horror. "Nope. Nope. Not watching it." He shakes his head vehemently. "Why don't we go back to what you all were talking about before I came... Did I interrupt _something_?"

Layla sends a quick kick under the table that she wishes in vain would cause Will even a small amount of pain. Years later, he still finds it unendingly hilarious that Warren and Layla had pretended to be together and not-so-subtly hints that they should date for real. Will and Layla had tried dating for a few weeks after homecoming before realizing they were much better off as friends. Last year Layla had been the "best woman" at his wedding to a sweet civilian named Savannah.

Will really did have a good heart when it came down to it, despite how annoying he could sometimes be. "You should tell him, Warren. Maybe he can help."

"Is everything okay?" Will asks, genuinely concerned.

Warren stabs a piece of broccoli with his fork and looks at the thing like it's the sole source of turmoil in his life. "My mom's getting remarried."

Will frowns. "Oh... I'm sorry, man. That's got to be tough. Especially after everything that happened with your dad."

Warren waves his fork dismissively. "No, it's not that. Gary's a nice guy. He's good to my mom, and I'm happy for them."

"Okay..." Will's frown morphs from one of concern to confusion. "Then what's the problem?"

Warren shoots Layla a pleading look that says, 'You tell him.' 

Layla raises her eyebrows. 'You're sure?'

Warren pinches the bridge of his nose and nods.

"Guys, please stop with the silent conversations," Will complains in exasperation, clearly tired of being kept in the dark. "It's bad enough under normal circumstances. What's the problem? Does Warren not have a date or something?"

Taken off guard by Will's uncharacteristic astuteness, Layla draws out her answer. "Sort of... You know, it's perfectly fine for someone not to have a significant other. Normal actually! And to go to a wedding by themselves. Totally normal!" A wave of anxiety overtakes her as if she's the one this is happening to. Her voice rises in pitch, and Warren's eyes widen at her rambling. She thinks she catches a flicker of amusement before she focuses back on Will. "But uh... Warren's mom just wanted him to be happy and was talking about how she wished he had a girlfriend, and Warren just... well, he told her he does." 

"Does what?" Will asks, understandably confused since the last bit was rushed out in one long breath.

"Have a girlfriend."

Will's mouth forms the shape of an O.

"I panicked," Warren mumbles half-heartedly for the umpteenth time that night, but it still doesn't sound any less weird coming from the usual calm, cool, and collected.

"Panicked?" Will mouths to Layla with wide eyes, and she can't help but shrug. She's just as lost as him. 

Layla can see the moment Will goes into fix-it mode. She's been on the receiving end of his help more than once, with a range of awful to not-so-terrible results. "Well, the only solution I can see is for you to get a girlfriend then," Will says, and Warren bristles in response. "Look, I know you're busy, man, but you've got time, right? When's the wedding?"

"Two weeks." Warren slumps in his seat, looking absolutely miserable.

Not to be deterred, Will pushes on. "Okay, no girlfriend then..." He looks at Layla and shakes his head. Then he pauses, glances back at Warren, and then to Layla again. His sharp smile sends alarm bells ringing in Layla's head, but before she can protest, Will says, "Why don't you and Layla just pretend to date? You're old pros at that."

Layla keeps her expression neutral while secretly wanting to strangle her best friend. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her Pothos Ivy plant start to extend one of its stems in the direction of Will's head, and she quickly tamps down on her emotions, subtly flicking her wrist so it will retreat.

"Pretend to date Layla..." Warren repeats, his voice just as neutral and nonrevealing. He keeps his gaze focused on his now empty plate. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Despite knowing they're just friends, a small pang of hurt blossoms in Layla's stomach at hearing that. Somehow Warren must sense her reaction to his words, because his eyes flick up to hers, expression no longer neutral but still indecipherable. "No, not like that. I just don't want to put you in that position."

Will bites into an egg roll with a loud crunch. "Why not? She did the same to you!" he retorts, leaning back in his chair with the nonchalance of someone who is married and doesn't have to worry about such things as singleness.

He's right, Layla has to admit. And it's unlikely that Warren's mother's wedding will turn into a life or death fight like homecoming had, so it wouldn't be that big of a deal. However, there's also the fact that they're adults now to consider, adding a new, complicated layer to the fake dating thing.

Still... Layla isn't sure Warren has any other viable person. Will and Layla are Warren's main friends. Sure, he has some other acquaintances from work he gets along with, but come every other weekend, you can find the three of them plus Susannah at one of their houses playing board games, having supper, and watching movies.

Will is still her best friend, will always be her best friend, but these days with Will married and busier than ever, Warren is probably her closest friend. He's the one she calls before anyone else when something major happens. And he had come to her first about his problem now. They were always there for each other.

That's the only excuse Layla has for why she allows all common sense to fly out the window. The only excuse for why she pushes aside the million reasons why this is a really, really bad idea and says, "I'll do it." 

Two gazes snap to her at that, but it's Warren who speaks. "No."

"Yes."

A muscle ticks in his jaw. "No, you're not doing this. Don't let Will guilt trip you. High school was a long time ago. You don't owe me anything from that."

"I know I don't," she replies, pushing back her chair and standing, starting to clean up the table. "You need help. I'm willing to help."

Warren glances down at the table and fiddles with his napkin for a second, considering, then his eyes return to her, and she can see his struggle in wanting to accept but not wanting to put her out either. "You're serious?"

"As serious as Coach Boomer on power placement day."

Layla isn't sure if she imagines the inaudible snort that comes from his direction or not. The last bout of weight seems to lift off Warren's shoulders, and she gets the full magnitude of how much this was truly stressing him out. "That's pretty serious."

She nods.

Warren stares at her for a moment longer, searching to see if she really means it. Then he nods, too.

Will throws a hand down on Warren's shoulder, making the other man jump. "Great, problem solved!" He smiles over at Layla with someone just a bit too excited to see his friends fake a relationship once again. "It's a date!"

* * *

It's two weeks later, as Layla is sitting in Warren's car, that she starts to really regret her decision. It wasn't the packing or discussion of plans that had finally freaked her out. She'd made it through all that with only mild anxiety.

No, what is making her question what in the world she had been thinking is when Warren had come to pick her up and she'd opened the door. She's not fully really recovered yet. 

"You can stop staring now," Warren says, although there's no real heat to his words. 

The truth is though, that Layla can't stop staring. She hasn't been able to stop looking at him since she'd pulled open her front door a full fifteen minutes ago. Warren has always been attractive. She can objectively say that as his friend. He's muscular and has a nice jawline, and his brown eyes are some of the most expressive she's ever seen, especially when he's laughing at something she's said. But Warren with short hair? This is something else entirely. 

His long hair had never bothered her. She'd actually come to be rather fond of the stuff. However, there is something about this clean-shaven Warren, his dark hair cropped close to his head and neck exposed, that has Layla's heart racing a little faster.

Some not quite identifiable feelings are surfacing in her chest that she'd been keeping a pretty good leash on since they were teenagers and sitting across from each other at Paper Lantern. But sitting just a breath away in Warren's car and Layla's never been so acutely aware until this very moment how much they are no longer in high school.

It's Warren's throat clearing that has Layla blinking out of her shock with no small amount of embarassment.

"Sorry," she says, tearing her eyes away just in time to see them pass a sign that reads "25 miles to Santa Clarita." "It's just that it's..." She trails off and waves her hands in his general direction, trying to find the right words to say.

Warren quirks an eyebrow, and even that does funny things to her stomach. Oh gosh, she is never going to survive this weekend.

"It's short?" he supplies, filling in the rest of her sentence.

She bobs her head, emphatically. "Yes, exactly. It just, uh, really threw me off. I've known you for ten years now, and I've never seen you with anything but long hair."

Warren runs a hand over his head, probably still unused to it himself. "I haven't had it this short since middle school. Thought it would be a nice surprise for my mom."

"Speaking of your mom... did you tell her who you're bringing to the wedding?" 

"No, but I think she's already guessed."

Layla is taken aback. "What?! How could she have guessed that I'm your girlfriend?" Without her permission, her voice has gone up an octave.

Warren's hands tighten around the steering wheel, but he doesn't dodge her question. "I guess since you're the only girl I've talked about aside from Bridget, she's jumped to some conclusions." He gives her a meaningful look. "Not that I've done anything to encourage her."

Hearing the name, Bridget, has Layla tensing up immediately, although she tries not to let it show. Bridget, aka "Freeze Girl," had been Warren's on-and-off girlfriend through parts of high school and college. For lack of a more accurate phrase, Bridget had always been rather cold and standoffish to Layla. And the feelings were reciprocated, especially when Bridget had left Warren for her lab partner in chemistry, and she'd let him know via text message that she was ending their three-year relationship.

They ride in silence for the next few minutes until they get on Exit 167 for Santa Clarita. The blinker that Warren flips on starts to click, and the noise sounds extra loud in the stillness of the car. "That was fast," Layla comments. She doesn't mean to sound upset by the fact, and logically she knows that she and Warren will still be spending a lot of time together helping set up and then at the wedding itself. The illogical part of her wants them to get back on the highway and keep driving. 

"Yeah." Warren doesn't sound completely unaffected either by the knowledge that this car ride, this conversation, is about to end. 

Layla wipes slightly sweaty palms down the thighs of her jeans. "You were always too good for her. Bridget didn't deserve you," she says plainly. 

Warren barks a startled laugh. "That's exactly what my mom said."

"She's right. You deserve someone kind and who puts you first. I was so angry at what happened. I almost tracked Bridget down, but Will stopped me." She's never exactly hidden her dislike for Warren's ex and how things ended, but she's never told him this before.

It gets her a thoughtful hum in return. Warren looks at her briefly before turning his attention back to the road. "I was going to say that you wouldn't hurt a fly, but I've seen you angry. I wouldn't want to get on your bad side."

Layla feels a ridiculous swell of happiness at that. "Thank you. Most people underestimate the power of plants." 

"Layla…" Warren starts, then stops. She sees from the corner of her eye him clench and unclench his hands around the steering wheel, and hears him audibly inhale a deep breath.

They take a left onto a residential street, and Layla's heart starts beating faster. "Yes?"

"When we were in school, did you ever think... that is…" Warren stammers. "... did you ever think about you and me getting together? For real?"

Layla has temporarily lost her ability to speak. She opens her mouth several times, ready to shout "Yes! Obviously yes!" but the words just simply won't come out. 

It feels like only seconds later that they pull up to a stop outside of what Layla presumes is his mother's house, but neither makes a move to get out. Layla, for her part, is too stunned to do much of anything right now. Her mind is buzzing with thoughts. 'Had Warren liked her in school? Does Warren like her now?' She isn't really sure what to do with these new possibilities.

Surprisingly, it's Warren that speaks up first. "Have I just ruined everything?" 

His voice is so quiet, so distraught, that it takes Layla too long to register his question. When she does, though, she shakes her head vehemently. "No, of course not." She feels a sudden spark of braveness in this enclosed space. Like anything can happen next. "You know what I've wanted to do all day since you picked me up?"

Warren frowns but doesn't comment on the seeming change in topic. "No." His voice is low and hesitant. "What have you wanted to do?"

Layla laughs, a crazed sound. "Touch your hair." At Warren's silence she goes on. "I've had a single thought since I opened my door today, and that's that I really want to touch your hair." 

She could have anticipated a million responses in return, but Warren's rough "Okay" is definitely not one of them.

"What?" she squeaks, sure she misheard.

"I said _okay_. If you want to touch my hair, do it." And to prove he means it, he leans closer to her and tilts down his head.

Before she can really think about what she's doing, Layla is reaching her hand up quickly like he's going to take back permission. She pauses an inch away, second-guessing herself, then just goes for it. 

Her first thought is that the hair is so much silkier than she'd expected. Not rough, but soft and smooth. Her second thought is one of acute awareness that she's not just touching anyone, but Warren. It's that awareness that reflexively has her hand jerking away, but then Warren's hand comes quickly to cover her own, holding it there. 

Her eyes fall to meet his, and the look there causes her breath to hitch. There's this intensity she hasn't seen in them before. This overwhelming affection and desire that maybe has been there for a while, and she just hasn't let herself really see.

A quick muttered "Layla" is all the notice she gets before Warren is leaning farther forward and pressing his mouth firmly against hers. 

Layla doesn't respond at first. She's been shocked so many times today that she thought nothing else could surprise her. She was wrong. Warren kissing her is something she most definitely didn't see coming. 

Realizing she's not reciprocating the kiss, Warren tenses and starts to pull back, but Layla quickly reacts, simultaneously moving her lips and tightening her grip on his hair. When Warren's hands slip into her own hair, it's like a thousand tiny sparks radiate from her head down to her toes. She doesn't know if it's her moan or his that escapes into the otherwise quiet car, but it has her tugging him even closer, gripping at his soft hair like it's an anchor.

She could have kept kissing Warren all night if it wasn't for the sudden knocking on her window. Layla doesn't even hear the sound at first, but then it somehow breaks into this moment they've made and she pulls back to see the interruption's source. 

Standing outside of the passenger door in a housecoat can be no one other than Warren's mother. She has the same jet black hair and strong eyebrows, just on a female form and with twenty plus years. Warren's muttered curse only further confirms the woman's identity. Layla feels a brief squeeze on her upper arm before Warren opens the driver's side door and gets out.

Their bubble broken, Layla takes a moment to compose herself. She tries to smooth down her tangled knot of red hair and realizes her hands are shaking. There's nothing that can still the hard thump of her heart in her chest, so she takes one deep breath in and then gets out, too. 

As soon as Warren has rounded the car, he's being wrapped in a hug. When Warren's mom pulls back and fully takes Layla in, there's recognition in her eyes, and a satisfied smile appears on her face. "I knew it! How did it finally happen?"

That earns a strained laugh from Warren, and when he catches Layla's gaze, she looks for any trace of regret and finds none. Instead, there's that same intensity as before that causes a shiver to rush down her spine. 

Layla shrugs helplessly at the question, her eyes still locked on Warren's. "I guess one thing just led to another." Although they hadn't kissed before today, it doesn't feel like this is the beginning. Rather, it feels like they've been building to this moment for a long time and finally took the leap. And it was all worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> For those very into Sky High, I sprinkled in a few Easter Eggs! Let me know in the comments if you caught any of these.
> 
> 1\. Warren's Bowling for Soup tee - The band's "I Melt With You" song was featured on the Sky High soundtrack.  
> 2\. Locations - Some of the residential shots were filmed in Pasadena, and Sky High's exterior is actually Oviatt Library of California State University Northridge.  
> 3\. Tolstoy - The references to Tolstoy and Anna Karenina stem from Warren Peace's name being taken from Tolstoy's book War and Peace.  
> 4\. Title - This fic's title, "One Thing Leads to Another" is also the name of the song that Steven Strait (actor who played Warren Peace) sang for the Sky High soundtrack.


End file.
